


Fine

by Morethancupcake



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel in the Bunker, Castiel-centric, Depression, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Guilt, Human Castiel, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 18:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8220376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morethancupcake/pseuds/Morethancupcake
Summary: "The pain was nothing. Nothing like all the things he had done to others. In time, it would heal. In time, he would forget."Castiel gets hurt, while they're on the road.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warning : this is probably darker than my usual work. Trigger warning for depression, self harm and self hatred. Be warned. 
> 
> No beta involved. Please remember English isn't my first language at all when you decide to kindly point all the typos.

His ankle is ugly, swollen. It was painful to walk, to stand still, to just be.

Sam had offered to take him to the nearest hospital, but he had said no.

All he could think about was the pain, bearable, annoying, making him hiss under his breath. It was alright. He had say so, I'm alright, Sam, I'm okay.

The pain was nothing. Nothing like all the things he had done to others. In time, it would heal. In time, he would forget.

He's limping, from the car to the hotel room, from the tiny disgusting bathroom to his sleeping bag on the couch.

Dean doesn't sleep with him on the road, and he is glad. What they have is private, the way his fingers curl against the freckled chest, or the way Dean would burrow his face in the crook of his neck. It's safe, it's warm, it's home. It's the bunker, and their room, it's the big couch in the library.

On the road, it's a war, and he's a soldier who doesn't deserve to feel better about his sins.

He's not the man who loves Dean, and gets to see it in the green eyes. He's not the one who gets to hear it, broken and perfect. I love you, I love you don't leave me. Stay, stay please. Please.

Dean begging him could bring him to his knees, better than any master had been able to.

Dean is looking at him, like a storm hovering over his head. He takes care of him, annoyed and avoiding his eyes. He knows Dean feels guilty about it, he feels guilty about his humanity, about the blisters on his fingers and the blood drying on his skin. Dean worries, so he doesn't say anything.

He's the one who asks for space, when they leave the bunker. He's the once who leaves, Dean tells him. He's the one who goes away. He's the once who asks for the sleeping bag, and who avoids Dean's hand.

 

It's been weeks, and it should get better, except if doesn't, far from it. He can't run, he can't really walk. The throbbing pain keeps him awake at night, and it's getting difficult to hide the tears when Dean or Sam try to get his attention under the table. Still, he doesn't say a thing. He runs when he needs to, he walks, he stands on his toes when he needs to. The pain is his, he welcomes it an keep it safely tucked where his grace used to be.

He remembers Famine, and the emptiness and the want, the bottomless pit inside of him wailing to be filled.

He remembers the Leviathans, all that power swirling inside of him, tearing him apart.

It's nothing, it's nothing.

He remembers the blood, and Dean's eye completely shut, he remembers his broken bones, the fragile shape of his skull and the way he had clung to him, waiting for the end. He remembers his fingers holding still, the blood smearing the trench coat.

He deserves far worse. The pain is just a reminder. He needs to feel something, anything to fill the same void inside his chest.

Sam is the first to notice. Or maybe it's Dean, it's difficult to tell. Sam leaves him a splinter, and some meds. He asks if everything is okay, if everything is fine.

It's the Winchester lie, it rolls easily from his lips, with a smile. I'm fine. Everything is fine. 

He waits for them to stop on the way back, and goes to a dirty bathroom with the drugstore bag Sam left him. He tries to understand the splinter, and he frowns when he realise he'll have to get rid of one shoe to get in on properly. The man in the cubicle next to him asks him if he's taking drugs in there, taking so much time, and he eyes him suspiciously when he opens the door and gets out, still holding the bag in his hands.

He gets one of the pills in the bag, and sleeps for the next three hours. The medecine is good, it blurrs reality, and the pain, and the guilt. He doesn't feel anything, he can sleep, unafraid of the bumps on the road and the brothers touching him. He takes another pill when they stop for dinner, and just ignores their invitation to greasy burgers and cheap beers. He sleeps in the car, and when he wakes up in the morning, Dean is looking at him with something like sadness in his eyes. 

 

He's too buzzed to notice more, he's warm and almost asleep when Dean wakes him up, a hand on his forehead.

"Hey Cas. We're home."

Home. 

Dean frowns when he doesn't move, and he frowns even harder a the hiss Cas lets escape when Dean hits his leg.

"Got a problem with your ankle, still ?"

Fine. He's fine. He smiles and tries to tell him, not to worry. But this is Dean. Dean who sees right through him. Dean, who doesn't say word but helps him, hands soft, moves gentle.

 

It's Dean who strips him from his dirty plaid shirt and his jeans. Who washes him with careful hands. Who manipulates his bones and flesh with the reverence usually showed to Gods or Saints.

Dean doesn't yell at him. He knows better. 

Dean washes the blood under his fingernails, he washes the ashes from his hair, the smell of rotten flesh and urine from his nostrils. Dean washes away the ugliness of humanity, and leaves him like a newborn.

"I forget how blue your eyes really are, when we are on the road." 

Dean kneels on at his feet, sponging the rest of his body. Castiel isn't sure what he did, to ever deserve him on his knees for him. He led armies, won wars. Nothing never felt so right than the brush of his lover's hand on his wounds. 

Dean heals him, heals his broken body, with potions and creams. One upon a time, Castiel could heal with just a touch of his fingers. Dean apologizes softly when he applies an oil, and wraps his ankle in a soft gauze.

This body is his. It's tired, broken, decaying, slowly dying. But it's his.

With this body, he can cup Dean's face and kiss him. With this body, he can make sure Dean is safe, protected. Always.

 

"I wish you would let me protect you."

Tears are stuck into his long lashes. The green of his eyes is almost amber, it's not something easy to find in nature. Castiel knows, he's searched. In moss, and trees. In gems and stones.

Castiel, Cas, guides him under the covers, in their bed, their home. Dean's skin is still a little damp. Under his arms, on the nape of his neck, between his legs. Places he's allowed to touch. He can cup his hand on Dean's sex, he can touch him, intimate and soft. 

He was a God, once, but here, he's just a man, he's just.

"I love you, Cas." Dean kisses his brow, his adam's apple, his nipple. 

Touch is comforting, touch his good.

"I wish you could tell me, when you're hurting."

 

I am fine. I am fine. It's the Winchester lie.

 

"I need you, Dean."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading.
> 
> I really hope you liked it. If you did, please consider leaving me a message in the comment, and hitting the kudos button ? It means a lot to me :)
> 
> You can find me on tumblr (with all the cool kids) : 
> 
>  http://iwanttopizzamanyou.tumblr.com/post/151389990769/fine
> 
> While we're at it (if you're still reading) this is your daily reminder to stretch a little, especially hour face, and to drink some water (or tea). Please remember to rest, just bookmark everything and go to bed :)
> 
> Happy october !


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